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His answer makes my stomach drop.

“I was over at the building this mornin’ replacin’ a faucet in apartment three. While I was there, I noticed your apartment door was standin’ open.”

Every muscle in my body locks.

Across the desk, Jules’s posture straightens.

The shelter noise fades into the background.

“What do mean?” I ask.

“Only a little,” Mr. Harrison says. “Maybe an inch or two.”

I grip the edge of the desk with my free hand. I know I locked that door.

“Did anybody go inside?” I ask.

“No, ma'am. I closed it right away and locked it again.”

“Okay.” I swallow hard. “Thank you for callin’ me. I'll be there soon.”

By the time the call ends, my pulse is pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. I lower the phone carefully, only to find Jules already on his feet.

“Tell me.”

A shiver works its way down my spine. If Mr. Harrison didn't open that door, somebody else did.

I meet Jules's eyes. “Mr. Harrison says my apartment door was open.”

The color drains from his face. “Oh, hell no.”

Jules is moving before the words fully leave his mouth. He rounds the desk, snatches his phone off a nearby counter, and starts pacing the office. His sneakers squeak against the tile every few steps while I remain rooted to my chair.

The fear comes in layers. First comes the acknowledgement that my apartment door had been open. Then comes the certainty that I locked it before leaving. Finally comes the understanding that somebody had been inside while I was gone.

Around us, the shelter continues to operate exactly as it did five minutes ago. Volunteers walk past the office carrying supplies. Dogs bark from the kennel wing. The front phone rings somewhere near reception. The normal sounds feel strangely disconnected from the panic beginning to build inside me.

“Maggie.” Jules stops pacing and plants both hands on his hips. His eyes burn into me, studying me closely enough that I know he's seeing every ounce of worry I'm trying to hide.

“Call Alexei.”

The suggestion should annoy me. Instead, the relief I feel almost makes me angry. Because I already want to call him, and I already know exactly what he's going to say. Stay put. Don't go alone. Wait for me. The fact that I can predict the conversation so easily says things about my life I don't want to examine.

I stand and pace as I scroll to his number. The phone rings twice before Alexei answers.

“Maggie.”

The sound of his voice takes some of the edge off. Not because it fixes anything. It simply makes me feel less alone standing in the middle of it.

“My landlord called.”

Silence greets me. Not confusion or hesitation. More like the pause of somebody already preparing for bad news.

“What happened?”

I lean against the edge of the desk and stare at the floor. “My apartment door was open.”

He gets right to the point. “Are you there now?”